Moroccan singer-songwriter Noraay is living proof that if we are to change the outside world, then we must change that which is within. Combining neo-soul, R&B, hip hop, North African and Middle Eastern influences, her music explores the miracles of creation, of nature revealing the deeper complexities of order and the impact of man on the environment, through lyrics that emanate ‘peace love and positive thoughts’.

Casting her illustrious and minimalist charm over acoustic, soulful blends of soft piano and bluesy guitar, Noraay croons a song-like and soothing jazz reminiscent of Norah Jones, with a speculative character - forever searching for something. Her songs are very spiritually rooted - like a prayer or an elegy - telling tales of ‘walking through the valley of darkness and depth, looking within the self and evaluating the future’, strengthened by hope and optimism.

‘Light at the End of the Tunnel’ emits a powerful, ballad poetry. Her pure, wavering voice flirts delicately with the giddy, playful rhythms of the kora. The overall combination infuses Noraay’s own style with a myriad of different essences, such that the essences themselves become transparent, and the music’s message is transmitted on its own terms.

‘Flower of Life’ is a composition describing the effect that when cells divide, they create this shape. Pulsating with soft tabla tones, Noraay paints an oriental music village, casting a metropolitan mural of moving shapes, patterns and colours; spellbinding Arabic scales, shimmering through a forward-thinking groove; and flourishing with Middle Eastern mystique.

Legend of British jazz and big band writing, and trumpeter, Kenny Wheeler, appears with this all-star line-up at the culminating point, marking the closing night of London Jazz Festival. And what a perfect way to do it, through a world premier of their latest CD - and the first recording in twenty years - ‘The Long Waiting’. Originally written to commemorate Kenny Wheeler’s eightieth birthday, this music has never before been performed in the UK.

Walking into the auditorium, I simply cannot believe the group of people sitting onstage, which includes not only Kenny Wheeler (trumpet, flugelhorn) but also Norma Winstone (vocals), Gwylm Simcock (piano), John Parricelli (guitar) Chris Laurence (bass), Martin France (drums), a saxophone section consisting of Evan Parker (baritone), Stan Sulzmann (tenor), Ray Warleigh (alto), Duncan Lamont (alto) and Julian Arguelles (tenor), not to mention Nick Smart (trumpet) and others too numerous to mention - all monumental figures of British Jazz who I have seen at various points throughout the week - directed under the hand of Pete Churchill.

Kenny Wheeler’s music symbolises the cutting edge in British big band composition and orchestration, and it is wonderful to here these creations unfolding, live to my ears. There are passages that create the sense of falling down an infinite chasm, surrounded by floating cities of brass and shafts of airy vocals. Amidst the thick butter of interlacing horns, dancing and wavering in a rhythmically polygonal patchwork of textures, the female vocals (Norma Winstone) radiate through, giving the music a hauntingly human quality, whilst still adhering to the abstract and the extremes of substance and development.

‘Counter Number Three’ is a modal waltz of sweet saxophones and vocals, while ‘Counter Number One’ hovers a dodecagonal metre, elegantly underpinned by the apocalyptic undertow of rising brass textures, mingling with the rush-of-consciousness effect of the vocals. This subsides into a militant swing, and the fiery lead trumpets take the forefront. The dialectic call-and-response structure takes control of this composition, which switches between two opposing sides, gradually building up, before finally collapsing back into the spindly clockwork of Afro twelve-eight rhythms.

The smooth transition into ‘Old Ballad’ fans out in a pristine, vibrato pool of languishing saxophone chorale. The trumpets swoon overhead, piercingly, in their altitudes, before succumbing to the gelatinous touch of Ray Warleigh (alto saxophone).

Indeed, it is all too easy to say that the big band writing has a distinctively British quality to it; one could liken it to overcast rainclouds of vocals and horns, occasionally subsiding for some radiant solo improvisations. Here, Stan Sulzmann (tenor saxophone) leaps and swings over straight quavers, his melodic outpourings swept up by the harmonic flow in some spectacular, kinetic formations and emotions, channelled with lighting-speed touch and response. Smooth mirrors of muted brass open disrupt the current, and the audience react at every twist and turn of the music, which, like film music, is cinematic and progressive.

These ‘weather’ analogies are meshed out through ‘Old Ballad’, which has some brand new lyrics added to it by Norma Winstone. The lyrics are startlingly beautiful: ‘haunting sounds that filled my life, and made their mark on me / can I rewind to what’s behind / to land in a world / where all the dreams are dust / some things remain, untouched by the rain’ drawing the music into a shimmering, mirage. 

The closing number ‘Upwards’ once again introduces a swathing ballad of wordless vocals to a clammy guitar, which leads into a syncopated waltz, finished with a squirreling trumpet solo by none other than Kenny Wheeler. His all-star band, featuring the cream of British Jazz, propels you in a tour-de-force through clouds of buffeting brass and wind, exquisite vocals and a steaming rhythm section. A thrilling journey to the heart, and back again.

It is very rare to chance upon a band of musicians that are both phenomenally talented, yet extremely heart-warming and play music of such beauty that it melts your heart and leaves you soaking in the sun of their radiance. Appearing with top musicians from Greece, Sokratis Sinopoulos (lyra), Vangelis Karipis (percussion) and Yannis Kirimkiridis (piano and keyboards), Armenian-American oud player Ara Dinkjian organically fuses together intricate melodies, whirring rhythms and lush string harmonies.

Their opening number combines a sumptuously sampled bass purling under some lovely four-square grooves, that sit back on the groove, and coast out some undulating pastures of rhythmic resilience. The oud and lyra draw so much feeling and flavour out of one chord, and it is amazing to be so close to the musicians and watch the expressions on their faces. Soon, the audience is clapping along in time, entranced by these exotic beats.

Following this is a seductively stately, ceremonial waltz, transporting you back to sunnier climes, with its wistful, romantic and nostalgic tones, evoking long journeys and loved ones back home. With its stoic, almost stiff character, the music plays out a unique insight into the flavour, soul and temperament of these musicians - passionate yet with an indescribable dignity and honour. The sheathing syncopations of the keyboard, caught by the delicate, offbeat kick of the high accent, creates a flirtatious sonority. The hollowness of the oud notes, falling slightly outside the ‘Western’ tonal system, resonate with old world, almost alien, charm.

Supplanting this is a frolicking folk tune, again setting the audience off to clap on every first beat. Here, I notice that the players are smiling at one another as they execute the native licks and loops at second nature - and I realise that they truly have these ancient melodies well and truly under their fingers. Like neo-classical choro or ragtime, the yarn modulates through minor and major keys, skipping with joy and youthfulness. The highlight of this piece is the improvised solo on the darbuka.

Never have I had the privilege to sit so close to a darbuka (goblet or chalice shaped drum, used in North Africa, Mediterranean and the Middle East) played so well. Never have I heard such rhythmic vibrations like this. Vangelis’ fingers are so strong, yet so relaxed and roll out these deliciously whirring tap rhythms, morphing through many different clusters and formations; ablaze with the fire of his own ferocity. I must admit that, sitting there, I could no longer write, but gaze helplessly, jaw wide open, lest anyone else guess how intimately I was experiencing this moving spectacle. The rest of the audience must have felt this too, for after a moment of suspended calm and disbelief, applause broke out - as it does - in the middle of his solo, and culminated with the rest of the band joining in perfectly.

Some pieces reveal a more sentimental side to the band. The crisp, feathery tone of the bowed lyra floats, like a vessel, over the tranquil waters of piano harmony, an ecstatic bliss suspended in gardens to your ears. This is complemented by the mellowness of the oud, twanging, thoughtfully, over this ‘Milky Way’ of  piano and lush string samples - a music that glistens so pure and golden. During these meditative passages, Vangelis adds some tastefully percussive enhancements, sheathes of shaker, wriggling bells and twinkling chimes.

Some songs combine simple, electronic rock / pop ballads on synth, enriched by the Arabic stylings of the melodic instruments, adding a contemporary touch to a traditionally ancient folk repertoire. Languishing pools of beautiful sadness permeate these moments, tuned into the heartstrings of longing and despair welling up through the sensitive plucking of the oud, in a music that is at once passionate yet solemn - as if these musicians are mourning a timeless loss. This mood presides over the gentle, resonant clanging of the tambour. I love how, when the main theme returns, the keyboard harmonies thicken and intensify, altogether leaving you in a dream state, overwhelmed and overcome with their profound power.

The idea is taken further, as the same theme is replicated into a sensual, gyrating folk song, and the audience are again clapping along in time. Here, the lyra and the oud take turns at soloing, in a delightfully fluorescent, improvisational exchange - making it impossible not to nod your head, or sway your hips, along to the infectiously slinky leaning. Each time it comes around, the refrain returns, accompanied by the roll and slap of the darbuka, inciting more spontaneous clapping on the first beat.

During the encore, Ara Dinkjian explains how he is graced with the honour of having his wife and daughters over from America, and two very good friends from New Jersey: it is easy to understand how some people - relatives or not - travel the world to hear his music. We are fortunate enough that, through London Jazz Festival, these rare pleasures are sitting, waiting for us, on our doorstep. And we do not need to travel; simply discovering this music is enough to turn us into armchair travellers. The only person who is not present (studying hard) is the son of Ara Dinkjian, who decides to evoke his spirit in a composition dedicated to his son, ‘In Wolf’s Clothing’; a sweet, pop ballad, whisking you on a night flight of heady oud, like a lullaby, floating across a vista of sparkling piano, and leaving you at piece with the world, and at one with your soul.

The rest of the band return to the stage for one more round; a buzzing, flittering hive of complex Karsilama (9 / 8) rhythms, rattling and colliding with a satisfying slap on the first and final beats. The perfect culmination to a whirlwind musical odyssey.

Adriano Adewale has a very naturalist approach towards sound and music. For him, “Sound is always in the air… We pass by it, we see it and sometimes we play with it. This is the world of sound, it is all part of that great music, the song within us, which makes us move and feel.”

Consequently, his music brings us right back to the inner resonances of our being, and the counterpoints of sound existing in our environment. His band is a gently bubbling, simmering pan of mellow, minimalist flute, finely tuned percussion, strummed and plucked, hypnotic, modal harmony and tribal dancing and song, which engages the audience in a heady call and response, and lifts the mind into the treetops of traditional African and Amazonian soundscapes.

Percussively, the soundtrack is permeated with ambient sounds at all levels - glass, metal, leather and wood - overlaid and interlaced, in a rich fabric that suggests the proximities of other sentient beings, musical lines crossing, lives intersecting and eventualities intertwining - every click, hit, pop and tap so intricately interwoven into the texture, and transmitted over a ‘forest’ of onlookers in the Clore Ballroom.

Towards the end of the set, his skidding, sliding and giddy grooves morph restlessly through a deeply spiritual song cycle of pulse and buzzing voices. A rich cocktail of cultural immersion and a sobering nod towards the fundamental roots of jazz.

DPZ Quintet, fronted by saxophonist / MC Thomas de Pourquery and featuring trombonist Daniel Zimmermann hail from Paris, France, the land of ‘camembert, Moulin Rouge, Eiffel Tower and Champs Elysses’, he quips. His music moves from surrealistic, bittersweet fairy tales and coppices, into traumatic, terrifying ‘nightmares before Christmas’. The guitar-driven quintet plunders through deep, dark depths, rising up in mammoth walls of sound and plummeting through extraneous chordal caverns. Every now and then, they are accompanied with spoken French, narrating as if in a dream sequence the source of these morbid visions.

Pools of reverberant guitar and synthesised fields of ambient noise drown the crying, wailing saxophone, as the sedated drumbeat continues, underneath. Clouded archons of lead guitar permeate the sound world, amidst sombre muted trombone and falsetto vocal howls. At every twist and turn, the music senses impending threat and danger, with slowly carousing, building steady cacophonies, sailing soprano saxophone - sickeningly thrilling - smoking and smouldering amidst doom-ridden angst, and a divine turbulence that swallows your ears and devours your mind, body and senses.

Renu

Renu are a seven-piece band combining classical vocals, jazz vocals / harp / violin, violin, guitar, guitar / percussion, piano and bass. Their diverse influences everything from MF Doom and Django Bates to grand opera, flamenco and snatches of Kanye West. Their members are all multi-instrumentalists, and combine an interesting range of textures and timbres woven together with bold, outspoken ideas.

Quirky and eccentric, these London Revellers cross over performance practices from jazz, classical and music theatre respectively, freely mixing the abstract with the poetic and programmatic. Musically, they are creating something quite unique and a little bit ‘out there’ - without relying on extraneous free improvisation. Instead, the music is developed through highly poetic and structured occurrences, complete with liberal sprinkles of humour and slapstick surrealism. The beginning of their set is quite rock / pop-influenced, while the latter half experiments with Spanish / Iberian stylisations, flamboyant guitar, hand clapping and themes reminiscent of Maurice Ravel’s L’Heure Espagnole. An intriguing discovery reconciling the worlds of commercial indie and rock, with forbidden fantasy, and nauseatingly rich imagery.

Oded Kafri + Drumachine

Percussionist Oded Kafri, otherwise known to over a million YouTube viewers as ‘The Drumachine’ has a well-travelled background. Originating from Israel, growing up in France, and having lived in both North Africa and the UK, Oded Kafri learned his trade as a street performer, bringing together many different influences and working with many different types of people. Oded possesses an encyclopaedia of musical vocabulary. A natural multitasker, Oded makes imaginative use of different surfaces, not only the water dispenser bolted onto his drum kit, but sticks, monitors and even wine bottles, progressing outwards into the audience. But these percussive applications are not executed in a contrived or random manner; Oded verily prepares his ideas, and works them into his arrangements. For him, the rhythmic-spatial world is simply an extension of his personality, where his mind and sticks work as one.

Additionally, Oded mixes his skill and virtuosity with digital samples and loops, fusing World musics from Eastern Europe, Africa and the West Indies, cementing choral singing with raving ‘drum ‘n’ bass’ beats, substantiated tempos and Groove Armada-style horns. Over these he plays and improvises, yet they do not seem to control him; rather he appears to be controlling the samples - at least, it is a mutual flux of control that is happening here - exploring the boundaries between human and inhuman, man verses robot. The samples function as a departure point for his personified elaboration and discourse.

Visually, Oded Kafri is a showman, welding robotic movements, gestures, dances and circus gymnastics into his crazed, insane routines. Whether these were planned or incorporated by sheer luck and intuition is open to discussion, but it is soon easy enough to understand how he attained over a million hits on YouTube. As he explains, ‘Music is not a profession, it is just something that everyone does’. In this sense, he is testifying to the immanently social origins of music, as integrated into everyday life. The brain is a remarkably complex organ. Oded Kafri, in his music, pushes the capabilities of the human mind, combined with the products of human invention.

The club was packed full and everyone was in high spirits. Walking in there, it really felt like jazz festival fever was beginning to settle in, as the light fades earlier, and the hard core gig goers come out of their shelters. Township Comets really got the audience going. Featuring the South African vocalist Pinise Saul, who has played with the likes of Hugh Masekela and most notable for directing The South African Gospel Singers, the band delivered a vibrant, colourful afternoon set.

One of the earlier numbers, a brisk, twelve-eight shuffle shows off the vibrancy of the three-piece brass section, consisting of saxophone, trombone and trumpet, which lays down some thick, modal horn arranging, finished with jazzy inflections, while the lead vocalist throws in some of her own embellishments. During the solos, she adds spontaneous shouts, yodelling and vocalisations to encourage them on, as the other horns pitch in with some sweet harmonic backings.

Vocalist Pinise Saul is completely at home on stage, radiating a warmth, wit and lustre to melt the most hostile of audiences. With her conversationalist style of delivery, she does not take herself too seriously, and in some of her songs, it is almost like she is telling a story of her own life, through the third person. The slow funk number shows off the warmth and depth of her emotion and personality, within a soulful offloading of revolving shapes, anchored by horn hooks and refrains that turn and coalesce around themselves. The electric piano adds a softer, silkier touch, so that the band are simmering a steaming incantation that seethes at the climaxes of each solo, and boils right down again as a new solo begins.

One of the later numbers adopted a Sonny Rollins-style, up-tempo afro-jazz-highlife, and featured Rob Townsend on alto / soprano saxophones, who delivered a blistering solo, steadily building, and cooked up with layers of backing and vocal shouts, integrated in a call-and-response, and creating a continuum between vocal shouts and brass stabs. The music was spiritual and accessible, and even incited the bartenders to dance!

The best thing about this performance is that it speaks to the whole room. Even if you were stood right at the back, or serving at the bar, Pinise Saul and her band transmit an energy that is all-inclusive. This was not limited to the stage either; she came out and engaged with the audience, so that everyone was invited to participate, and there was no longer an audience - just a massive, feel-good party, whipped up in the frenzy of danceable, addictive music.

​National Youth Jazz Orchestra pulled together a spectacular show at the Purcell Room, Queen Elizabeth Hall, Southbank Centre. Featuring the cream of young jazz talent from all over the UK, many of whom are currently studying at the London conservatories, the show raised the standard in both performance, composition and arrangement.

The programme explored the array of jazz and big band writing that has taken place since World War II, in the UK. The earlier half of the programme concentrated on ‘straight-ahead’, more traditional idioms; beginning close to home with the angular, quirky and cell-driven ‘Soho Hubub’ by Jason Yarde, featuring Chris Whiter on baritone saxophone. Some of the compositions featured a wordless vocal ‘backdrop’; shadowing, in unison, the melodic leaps and skips of the thirteen-piece brass section, such as in the shimmering, smoky veils of Nikki Iles’ ‘Hush’, which swept the listener through a beautifully sweeping soundscape of peaks and climbs, and adding the contemporary touches of lead guitar, flute and horn to the environment; and in Kenny Wheeler’s ‘The Know Where You Are’ taken from ‘Sweet Time Suite’ on ‘Music For Large And Small Ensembles’. Highlights of these two pieces were the improvised solos by Nadim Teimoori (tenor saxophone) and Rob Luft (guiitar).

From this point, the programme moved further into dissonant, Avant Garde ideas, with Stan Tracey’s ‘Afro Charlie meets the White Rabbit’ from the suite ‘Alice in Jazzland’, which whips the soloists through a frenzied rhythm changes, featuring Chris Eldred on piano; and Loose Tubes’ ‘Sad Africa’ adding yet more interesting instruments to the mix - everything from ‘Eb’ penny whistle (Helen Wilson) and soprano saxophone (Phil Meadows), right down to bass clarinet and tuba. This composition also included some accomplished choral harmonies emanating from the brass section - nice work lads! In sections, it descended into chaotic, free improvisation, before reuniting in wide, grandiose pastures.

One feature that I particularly liked about this concert, as well as the contemporary jazz and big band writing, was the utilisation of ethnic rhythms and styles. While the Loose Tubes’ ‘Sad Africa’ toyed with South African township grooves, Joe Harriot’s ‘Freeform’, dedicated to the late Michael Garrick brought the Jamaican influence into British Jazz - a reminder that Pan-Caribbean cultures are a cherished part of British heritage. It featured terrific solos from Sam Razer (alto saxophone) and Nick Dewhurst (trumpet).

Vocalist Emma Smith added words to Stan Sulzmann’s composition ‘A Warm Rocky Place’, originally an instrumental, and she delighted all with her cool, silky interpretation. The programme continued with two compositions by members of NYJO, past and present, tenor saxophonist Tom Stone’s ‘Return Flight’ and percussionist Felix Higginbottom’s ‘The Change’. Felix featured throughout the set on various percussion instruments including congas, vibraphones and glockenspiels. His ecological work represents a journey from the rainforest to the urban metropolis, held together by the antagonisms of thematic development and preservation.

After a brief sorbet of bebop, with Tubby Hayes’ ‘Suddenly Last Tuesday’, which featured some rip-roaring, wood-shedding sectionals from the brass and saxophones, Tim Garland’s ‘Dawn Before Dark Before Dawn’ lifted the momentum to cataclysmic heights. Finally, distinguished vocalist Emma Smith returned at the end, leading the big band in a funk-influenced arrangement of Nina Simone’s ‘Feeling Good’, arranged by the band’s own director Mark Armstrong, which featured more incredible soloing from guitarist Rob Luft coupled with the clarity, warmth and charisma of the female vocalist, who awed the audience with her effortless vocal talent and skill.

Altogether, it was a momentous set, with the fuel, drive and spirit maintained and delivered right until the last notes. Listening to the music, it is so easy to sit there and simply lose yourself in the walls of brass, bathing your ears in the fabulous oceans of harmony that they create. The rhythm section arrangements were intricate, unveiling so many different techniques and formulations, integrated in such a sophisticated way - astounding, given the age of the band members - and it is difficult to believe that most of the members are either still studying, or having just graduated, because they play like seasoned professionals. Overall, some incredible music happening, and some inspiring creativity unleashed.

​I have seen both Nikki Iles and Stan Sulzmann on separate occasions in the past, and I remember being completely blown away. Tonight, they were both dazzling as ever, featuring with the Guildhall Jazz Band. The ensemble was a traditional big band format, with the addition of auxiliary woodwinds, tuba and lead guitar - adding a contemporary touch to a traditional medium. In terms of the ensemble interaction, I particularly enjoyed the interplay between different voices, sections and timbres; with dovetailing, intertwining layers of harmony that creep seductively over one another.

Nikki Iles played piano some improvisations that really explored the space that she had created through her compositions. Each note teetered over the balance enough to be projected across the builds, swells and warm curtains of wind and brass, which were delivered with staggering control. Her passages, interwoven so intimately into the sequences, rippled and breathed with life, melody and exploratory movement through glittering clusters and sensual phrasing.

Stan Sulzmann played with vigour and inquisition. His improvisation subjugated an exciting, hot-blooded bed of riveting, whirlwind, tour-de-force big band writing. His soprano saxophone played around the pulse, and every subtle nuance and intention was voiced clearly, refined, and without overkill. Equally stunning in the small band setting, his melodious improvisation weaved together precision timing and a high degree of emotive sensitivity. He doesn’t need to move fast during this ballad, instead slipping effortlessly through lush oases of intervallic splendour.

A couple of the tunes were composed by Nikki Iles and arranged by Stan Sulzmann. I was astounded by the structural invention and the way that composer / arranger utilises the big band medium to such stimulating effect. The grandiose, brassy swells, punctuated by the crisp, percussive attacks add impact to the rich submersion of colour and flavour. Moreover, it is delightful to see two such internationally renowned artists working together with these young people, cultivating emerging talent and keeping the art alive. It is proof that the big band is not a dead art form. Overall, it was an enchantingly refreshing and inspiring insight into contemporary British big band writing, and a reminder that the UK does offer a very special heritage within this medium.

Swiss singer-songwriter, Sophie Hunger, dubbed by The Guardian as a cross-between Beth Orton and Björk, wowed audiences at Jazz Café, showcasing, with her band, songs from her new album. The lineup featured Alberto Malo (percussion, vocals), Simon Gerber (bass, guitar, clarinet, vocals), Sara Oswald (‘cello, glockenspiel, vocals) and Alexi Ameris (piano, rhodes, hammmond, trumpet, flugal horn, vocals). And if that list of instruments doesn’t tantalise your taste buds (or should I say, earlobes), then wait until you hear how the instruments are used! The orchestrations display an impressive array of textures and timbres, inventively played out, whilst drawing on influences from progressive rock, folk and electronic music.

In my opinion, her music is less about subtle nuances; instead, the excitement and tension is generated more through the overall shapes and ideas that are employed, the timbres that are combined and the shifting displacements that are created. Her melodies are smooth and flowing, whilst riveted in movement, attitude and unpredictability. There is so much personality and temperament in her orchestration, with far-flung motifs and grooves being twisted and strung around wildly, in a whirlwind of spontaneous unpredictability and slick, cut-off culminations.

Sophie herself has a gorgeous, breathy tone of voice, delivered with a captivating stage presence, with soulful eyes that gaze up to the heavens, and draw you into her dark, primal world. At times, I can certainly hear the fragile, wavering Björkness in her voice, whereas at other times, I hear the ‘folktronic’ lilt of Beth Orton - slowed-down rock ‘n’ roll, syncopated by polyrhythmic jives. The musical emotion is teased out in her strong, projected vocals; drawn out through smouldering poutations, ecstatic moaning, sighing and playful exclamations. Her personality owns the stage, and her no-nonsense, to-the-point attitude is perfectly encapsulated in the vowels and consonants that are completed with definition and finesse - so much so, that you can almost taste her words. Sophie is as much a linguist as she is a poet, effortlessly interchanging between English, French and German; translating her thoughts through windows of time and space, and providing rare glimpses into her infinite spheres of destiny - orchestrated through languishing ‘cello passages and minimalist voids.

Structurally, her songs are surprisingly short and sweet, in contrast to so many other forms of jazz, where compositions and arrangements are developed and played out through extended improvisation. Here, the story is different. In a sense, her compositions do not need to be developed. Many of them finish on a shrill ‘cliff hanger’, leaving the listener suspended in a void and forever asking questions. These abrupt endings leave the listener to continue the song in their mind, inviting them to formulate their own endings. Their message is delivered succinctly, and, in some cases, there is nothing more that needs to be said. Her poetic shells are complete, compelling and not overdone.

The smooth delicacy of her voice is often juxtaposed against smashing, symphonic hits, while the rhythmic constructions, stops and supplantations are used to dramatic effect. The band respond intuitively to the subject matter of the lyrics, throwing in a complete stop as the vocalist sings ‘float like a feather’, or drowning the vocalist in a satisfying well of heartbreak and trauma. I was particularly impressed with the jazzy, edgy piano improvisation, which nailed rhythmic displacements into kaleidoscopic walls of shimmers, rattles and runs, converging with the percussion, in a limitless determination. The interweaving of trumpet and clarinet at the end of one of her compositions, over bare, bass-line ‘heartbeat’ served to drive the poignancy home.

Examples of Twelves

This project, featuring a close gang of London’s young, up-and-coming creative knit, bring together dramatic, punchy and dissonant horns, with driving drum riffs. Threading squealing harmonics, violently twisting melodies and flagrant tones in explorations of free improvisation - seamlessly interchanging between ambience and angularity.

Bento Box

Bento Box is a thrilling new collaboration between F-IRE collective members Pete Wareham (saxophone), Seb Rochford (drums) and Ben Hazleton (bass), pushing the boundaries of improvisation over timeless jazz classics. Pete Wareham (saxophone) whips you into a frenzied stream-of-consciousness; his flickering ribbons of melody often wrinkling upwards into altissimo flourishes, before plunging into headfirst dives of wild, thrashing improvisation. He is not half-hearted with his playing; he drives brain and soul into every single note, tempering with the pulse, and alternating fiercely between intensity and disparity. 

Ben Hazleton (bass) begins his improvisations by first establishing the lines or parameters upon which to map out and extend his repertory. His unloading is varied and dynamic, experimenting with different techniques such as strumming, chordal playing and pizzicato. He moves his fingers so meticulously across the board, underpinned with strength, and exploiting the instrument to its full merit, through a fine-tuned, strong-willed hand and personality. This structural ‘mapping out’ is extended through his interplay with Seb Rochford (drums), who brings the rhythmic segregation of the bass into relief. He possesses a super-speedy response, fluctuating his metre and groove-changes effortlessly, and with such ease, and yet laughing and joking all the way. Occasionally, he deliberately plays against the beat, conflicting with the saxophone and the bass, to heighten the tension. When the kit becomes the main feature, he is expertly good at unwielding a barrage of smattering improvisation, whilst overtly keeping a cool head.

Overall, the trio brought an engaging dynamic to the Green Note, inciting a terrific response from the audience, who whooped and cheered at every turn of phrase. The development of their individual musical ideas really pushes the boundaries of improvisation and drives you on a tour-de-force, right to the very core of these standard compositions, and transforming them at the heart.

​Outhouse Ruhabi is an ensemble consisting of 2 tenor saxophones, bass, drums and 4 Gambian Wolof percussionists. Led by drummer, Dave Smith, the group started in Africa, and its members are spread around the world. Their sound is a juxtaposition of traditional Gaba drumming from Gambia, West Africa, and contemporary, avant-garde jazz... Well, not so much a juxtaposition, but more of a reconciliation; the project truly acknowledges and embodies the African roots of jazz. Saxophonist Robin Fincker described how when the band were touring in Africa, and playing in the villages, the entire population of those villages would come out to watch, and they would recognise their own rhythms and practices integrated within those of the jazz drummer - it is their own rhythms that have permeated jazz and popular music throughout the Americas. The ethos of Outhouse Ruhabi is effectively a reconciliation of the old and the new, the African and the American, the one informing the other in a generational dialogue that transcends time and space - a musical and cultural 'time warp'. The project is a evolutionary frontier, and a breaking of the boundaries, for it returns modern jazz back to its motherland.

The music was extremely spiritual, combining static, saxophonic chordal applications, revolving around crackling percussive layers, fractured by violent ruptures, and occasionally heightened by repeated, call-and-response, polyphonic vocal refrains. The saxophones seemed to float weightlessly at the surface, providing a smooth, airy contrast to the rumbling, wavering percussion. The spine-tingling, intricate, popping rhythms tickled the sinuses of my soul, and moved me in a way that I felt transfixed, lest anyone else know how intimately I was experiencing them.

While I have some knowledge of Afro-Cuban rhythms, my knowledge of West African rhythm is somewhat limited, so forgive me for incorrectly applying Cuban terminologies to a music that through lifelong study I would barely scratch the surface. The hierarchical layers of percussion added a three-dimensional quality to the music, and played an elastic yet robust rhythmic groove, which morphed seamlessly through different feels and tempos; sometimes a spirited, buoyant 6/8, at other times gnawing and sawing its way through a 4/4 meter, and occasionally a leaping rumba with a 6/8 lilt. The moods were sometimes sombre and processionary, breaking into complex, multi-faceted structures rotating like giant musical organisms; their cyclic hooks compelling you into a state of total absorption and contemplation. During the intense sections, the squealing saxophonic laments of Tom Challenger were egged on by the relentless onslaught of torrential percussion; their cascading tones manifesting themselves in a pure 'flow-of-consciousness' expulsion of the brain, and rippling in a frenzy of wild counterpoint. 

The music incited a man to dance alone, which reminded me of the solo male dancer in the Cuban colombia - one of the oldest forms of rumba descended from the African legacy - in which the male dancer manifests himself as the orisha, dancing out the spirit. This man was lost in his own spiritual world, his eyes trance-like, and his mind apparently turned towards the heavens. In dialectic response, one of the drummers positioned himself in front of the stage and performed his own dance at the end, provoking spontaneous cheers and hand clapping from the audience. The percussion 'solo' towards the end was not really a 'solo'; it was a 'soli' yet it was all improvised - or so I understood. It was like your conventional jazz drum 'solo' yet all of the percussionists were improvising together as a unit! This incredibly integrated display, disciplined through generations and years of initiation and practice, is a miraculous phenomenon of human nature that since has manifested itself as a religious, recreational and social cohesive tool across many forms of music.

I only realised half way through the performance that, unlike most groups that I had witnessed in the jazz festival, there was no piano, guitar or equivalent harmony instrument. However, the music did not necessarily need this; there was enough substance to tantalise and tickle the senses, throwing the listener into an open, expansive, inharmonious void. Altogether, it was an energetic, spiritual performance that was very moving and humbling to watch. I have seen some amazing things over the last week that have truly been a measure of the human capability, but it is very rare to be able to simply drift into the Southbank Centre and to be immersed in music of such depth and richness, and to have the luxury of allowing its ripples to wash over you - an experience that cannot be felt at any other place or time.

​F-IRE Collective is an exciting hotpoint of pioneering jazz, which fosters and cultivates emerging young talent both nationally and internationally through a school of like-minded composers and performers, inciting a vivacious wave of creativity bubbling up through the surface of London's jazz scene. I witnessed the F-IRE Collective big band on two separate occasions at the RNCM in 2005 and 2007, and on one occasion I was even lucky enough to play with F-IRE Collective graduates saxophonist Ingrid Laubrock and trumpeter Tom Arthurs through the Manchester University Big Band, organised by Graham South. Today, I was fortunate enough to hear Porpoise Corpus, one of their newest ensembles, who incite innovative, electrifying and trailblazing original music; combining a wide range of influences, juxtaposing live acoustic and electronic instruments that crash and burn their way through explosive interludes balanced with languid pools of sustained piano and creamy saxophone, and integrating contemplative, sophisticated sensibilities with grooving material that has a sense of immediacy among listeners. The dissonant ballast antagonises itself between periods of tension and relaxation; swelling outwards, withdrawing inwards, and occasionally giving way to glistening, gleaming, diminished and inquisitive vibraphonic releases. The concert finale offered a glimpse inwards into the milky way, sailing outwards into a vast expanse of stellar, musical horizons. ​

​Long-time award winning saxophonist, Peter King, led an outstanding quartet in the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Demonstrating his virtuosity on arrangements of tunes by Billy Strayhorn, Chick Corea and John Coltrane, along with some of this own compositions, Peter King played an excellent set. His fluid, quicksilver alto saxophone sound is well-projected, and resonant with crystal clarity. His finger-work is extremely nimble and dexterous, with elaborate, scalic improvisations that spiral, cascade and twist and turn with the smoothness and muscularity of a rattlesnake. On the Chick Corea tune 'Inner Space', these were complemented by the chunky and playful improvisation of pianist Steve Melling - with a delightful quirkiness yet a sophistication to it that would leave many contemporary pianists standing. Steve's composition 'Bees Groove' is a sultry, almost cheeky blues, with a swinging, easy feel and elegantly elaborated melody. His own piano solo contained that classic sophistication yet sleazy, stumping swing that has been mastered as an art in itself, while the saxophone sang freely in an elastic, bird-like improvisation. The bass solo by Geoff Gasgoyne was florid and polyrhythmic. Peter King followed this with his own take on the Billy Strayhorn tune 'Lush Life' which he completely improvised on the sax - apart from the last few bars. He has an incredibly intricate inner-ear, his fingers translating the orchestra inside his head onto the keys of the saxophone, with lightning-fast fluency, slipping through the chord changes with ease. The improvisational style is thoroughly elaborated, leaving more attuned ears to discern the melody amongst the ornamented leaps and runs - a very elaborate rendition. The piano entered at exactly the right moment, and was soon joined by the percussion and base in a sensitively-timed wash of colour. 'The World of Trane' presented a montage of the music of John Coltrane; beginning with the arhythmic, modal, profoundly spiritual hymn, amidst with the collateral of improvised percussion and the sweet, silky, swirling textures of the piano; leaping into the 'Giant Steps' chord changes before dissolving again into a free arhythmic pool or mirror-like, cascading finesse; finishing with the haunting and bewitching 'My Favourite Things' jazz waltz. Peter King had just enough time to do one more; his burning bebop arrangement of Joshua, spinning off into 3/4 sections was very tightly carried, with flaming licks and crackling exchanges between the saxophone and drums. While the bebop sections were always progressing towards a definitive climactic point, the 3/4 sections offered a glance inwards at an alternative, introspective world (for a few split seconds per time). The cataclysmic energy of the ending brought the set to an explosive finale, which paved the way perfectly for Roy Haynes. Stylishly done.